Abi was sat in bed, trying to occupy her mind with trashy TV shows from the early 2000s instead of thoughts of having a baby. She still felt way too young, too unprepared to have a baby. Charlie had been older when he'd come to her, so she'd never handled a newborn. She liked sleeping, dammnit. And how was Hemingway going to handle a baby with her? His manic phase had been hard to handle at the best of times.
She was just absorbed in some show when he came back, practically throwing the tests at her. "I guess three would be conclusive, huh?" she asked, having drunk all her tea in the time he'd been gone. "Thanks."